


We Are All Fragile, Broken Things

by wakeupstiles



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Flirting, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, i.c.e agent roan, it makes since you'll see, mechanic raven, past finn/raven, past raven/gina, past roan/echo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakeupstiles/pseuds/wakeupstiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Roan and Raven talk to each other and the one time he finally asks her out to dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are All Fragile, Broken Things

**Author's Note:**

> this ship has taken over my life send help ~~not really i love it~~
> 
> there's mentions of a character committing suicide but nothing graphic/in detail  
> also mentions of character deaths but nothing graphic/in detail

The first time she saw him, she hated him. He killed her mother, after all. (Okay, indirectly he caused her suicide, and _okay_ it wasn’t him but the people he worked for; mainly his _fucking mother._ ) So technically it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him, but it was the first time in three years.

Had she know it was _him_ she wouldn’t have stopped on the side of the road to help. She couldn’t make out who it was with her headlights shining on him, and when she was standing in front of him she couldn’t just turn around and leave. He needed help, she had stopped, so she would do it but she wouldn’t be _happy_ about it.

“What’s the problem?” She asked, fists on her hips, her tone less than pleasant.

He raised an eyebrow at her, his neutral expression never wavering. “Flat tire.”

“Alright,” She waved her hand as she turned and headed back towards her car to get her tool box out of the trunk. He got the spare tire out of his own and placed it down beside her as she slipped a tool under the right back flap and cranked it, causing the car to extend from the ground.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stop on the side of the road for strangers?” He questioned, his deep, low voice full of curiosity.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to change a flat tire?” She jabbed back, no amusement in her tone. He stayed silent after that, content with his muscled arms folded across his broad chest as he watched her work. It was like watching the ballet, he concluded, the way her fingers worked swiftly yet calculated. He was disappointed after she’d finished, but of course he didn’t say that.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, sliding back into the driver’s seat of his way-too-expensive vehicle. He extended his hand out to her, a hundred dollar bill dangling from his fingers.

She shook her head and picked back up her tool box. “Make sure you come by the shop tomorrow for a follow up. Wouldn’t want your pretty car to break down again and me not be there to save the night.” Then she walked away and left him in the dark, a faint smile on his face. She never said which shop she worked at, but he was a federal agent; he could figure it out.

 

* * *

 

  
The second time she saw him, she was crying. He had waltzed into her shop like he was a specter about to drop a bid on it and if she wasn’t already a mess she would have snorted and rolled her eyes, but that day she just didn’t have it in her. He looked around _Reyes Mechanics_ with wide blue eyes and an open expression. When he saw her behind the counter his eyes narrowed and he approached her. “I’m here for the follow up.” He said simply, placing his hands on the counter.

She nodded, then called to Monty in the back, who appeared in an instant and led Roan to the garage so that he could look at his car.

She was still crying when he returned thirty minutes later. “How much?” He asked, reaching for his wallet.

The woman shook her head, scrubbed at her eyes, causing her mascara and eyeliner to leave tracks down her cheeks. “Nothing; it’s just a follow up. You’re good.” And she didn’t know why she was being so nice to him. _Again._ Maybe it was because she was already too upset to be mean. Or maybe it was because no matter how badly she wanted to snap his head off, she couldn’t. She didn’t know why she couldn’t; the feeling was something that she didn’t know how to explain, and honestly, she didn’t want to know.

The man sighed, gave a curt nod, then turned and headed towards the door. He had one foot out when he faced her again and asked, “Are you alright?” His voice was sincere and Raven hated that. Hated that _he_ of all people seemed to care. Who gave him the right?

She gave a little shrug, pained on a fake smile. “Caught my boyfriend cheating. No big deal.” Was all she said. And he stood there for a few minutes, half inside and half outside, just looking at her as if he was debating on saying something.

Two minutes passed and a customer politely asked him to move so that she could get inside. He apologized to her, then left, but not without stealing one last look at the mechanic, who now had her attention elsewhere.

 

* * *

 

  
The third time she saw him, she was drenched in sweat and desperately trying to catch her breath. Tears mixed with sweat and she was thankful because she didn’t want him to see her crying again. It’d been two weeks and their encounter at her shop still mocked her; she couldn’t believe she _actually_ told him about Finn. She didn’t know this man, didn’t care to know him, and she’d spilled something so personal, so vital, and it made her feel vulnerable.

She hated that feeling, especially in front of strangers. Especially in front of a man that she was _supposed_ to hate. Okay, maybe she wasn’t supposed to hate him. Maybe it was just his mother she was supposed to hate. She was the deputy director of ICE, after all, and they were the people who drove her mother to suicide; they were hell bent on deporting her, but she refused to go back to Mexico, so she did the only thing she knew to do. So maybe Raven wasn’t supposed to hate Roan, but he worked for ICE, he was there in the background when the other agents questioned her, silent, observing, and she hated him.

At least, she _tried_ to hate him. It wasn’t working so well and _goddamn it why the hell not?_

He walked into the gym like he fucking owned the place and it pissed her off. That stupid lopsided smirk, those annoyingly piercing eyes, that infuriating personality. Everything about him pissed her off—so why did she want to jump his bones? It was probably the overflow of emotions that were currently coursing through her. _Yeah, that’s what it was._

She’d started crying again as she continued to beat the shit out of the punching bag in front of her. He walked up to the free one beside her and began throwing punches himself. He was silent for a few moments before he asked, “Why are you upset?”

“My best friend was sleeping with my boyfriend.” She hadn’t meant to tell him; the words just tumbled out and she wanted to slap herself for it afterwards. Why was telling him what was wrong so easy? _Goddamn_ she hated herself.

“The one you caught cheating on you?” He questioned.

She paused mid punch, then blinked a few times and started over. _He actually remembered that?_ She was astonished, really. “Yeah.” She nodded. “She confessed to me this morning. It was great.”

He said nothing after that and neither did she. Somehow she was disappointed with his silence.

 

* * *

 

  
The fourth time she saw him, she was a drunken mess and working her way up to plastered. He sat down beside her, ordered something she’d never heard of, and sat quietly while she downed three more shots. I’d been three months since their last encounter, not that she’d counted.

“Bad day?” He asked, scooting a little closer to her, though she was too preoccupied with getting another shot to notice.

She nodded curtly. “Bad life.” She muttered sourly, then pointed to her left leg. His eyes trailed down her body and stopped on the metal brace that covered her leg.

He furrowed his eyebrows, looked back up at her with an overflow of concern. “What happened?” And she told him about the car accident, about her girlfriend, Gina dying, about losing the function of her leg but refusing to get it amputated because _I can fucking work around it._ How she hadn’t been back to work since getting out of the hospital but _I own to goddamn place so it’s not like I can get fired._ He stayed quiet, lips pressed together in a thin line as she continued on and on about the accident and the woman named Gina. He listened attentively and not once did he roll his eyes at her grief. He was a better man than that, she was beginning to learn.

She was turned towards him now as she spoke, using her hands in wide gestures, her alcohol long forgotten. “…Everyone treats me like I’m broken. Like I’m something fragile. Like I need protecting.” She finished, her voice deflated, her shoulders slumped forward.

“We are all fragile, broken things.” He spoke softly, absent mindedly placing his calloused hand on top of hers. She didn’t pull away. He wasn’t even sure if she noticed. Somehow he was okay with that.

She shook her head vigorously. “Not me. I’m just… I’m _just._ ” She mumbled, not removing her hand from under his and instead using the other one to grab her shot glass and pour the bitter liquid down her throat.

“I am.” He admitted.

She raised a brow. “You are?” She asked skeptically.

He smiled and laughed. “Oh, yes.” Then gulped down the rest of his drink. And he told her about the woman he was engaged to, how she was everything to him, how he couldn’t breathe without her. He told her about his tyrannical mother, how she drove her away, how she made Echo hate him and everything he stood for. How she died on the way to the restaurant to give him back the ring. How her body was never found because the train had desecrated it. How he was broken. How he was fragile. How that had torn him to shreds yet he was still standing.

And she listened. Tentatively, her eyes soft and the buzz progressively lessening in her head. She noticed his hand on top of hers as the night progressed but she made no attempt to remove it. Instead, she scooted closer to him and lost herself in his beautiful, raspy voice and gorgeous, hypnotic eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

The fifth time she saw him, she was biting back cuss words and holding back a few punches. She was at the gym doing physical therapy for her leg because _there’s no way you’re touching it, Abby, I can take care of myself._ And yeah, okay, she could take care of it but the physical therapist at the gym persuaded her to let him help. Lincoln wasn’t that bad, she actually kind of liked him, but damn was he pushy. Which she got, she really did, but fuck there was only so much she could handle. And she would begrudgedly confess that it was hard.

He didn’t notice her as he went straight to the punching bag and began beating the hell out of it. Curiosity spiked and before Lincoln could stop her she had slipped on her brace and made her way over to the man beating on the heavy bag.

She stood there for a few seconds before he spoke, “My mother was killed today.” He said without his eyes meeting hers.

Her expression softened and she crossed her arms lightly over her chest. “I’m sorry.” And she was. Despite hating the woman, she was sorry.

He stopped and caught the bag before it could swing back and hit him in the face. He held the bag close to him, leaned his face against it, took a few deep breaths, then looked up at her and said, “Don’t be; she was a horrible person.”

“Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death.” She mumbled, trying to find a way to connect with him.

“I’m sorry.” He offered.

She gave a little shrug, a faint smile. “Don’t be; she was a bad person, too.” Raven resented the woman; hated her because of all her drinking and all the vocal abuse, but still found it in her heart to be pissed at the people who caused her suicide. It was complicated.

He smiled softly at her and she tried to control the butterflies in her stomach.

 

* * *

 

  
The sixth time she saw him, she was waiting at a too-expensive restaurant, wearing her special-occasion dress, tapping her ridiculous red fake nails on the white clothed table. He was fifteen minutes late and she had already gone through two glasses of wine. She tried texting him but got no response. She called him a few times but it went straight to voicemail. She was debating on getting up and walking out but something willed her to stay.

He sat down two minutes later, hair disheveled and tie a little loose. She raised an accusing eyebrow and a light flush spread across his cheeks. “The meeting ran later than expected. I ran here instead of taking a cab because of traffic.”

She burst into laughter and slapped her hand on the table. She would have called him a liar but she knew that it was true; it was exactly something he would do. “I thought you wouldn’t show.” She confessed after she’d calmed down and the waitress brought more wine.

He raised his eyebrows. “I would never stand you up.”

“You hardly know me.” She scoffed, though there went the butterflies again.

He leaned across the table, grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We have all the time in the world, don’t we?” He asked, his light eyes shining with something she never thought she’d see: _love._

And, surprisingly, that didn’t scare her.

A little smirk played across her face. “You say that as though we’re going to be in a relationship three months from now.” She mumbled coyly.

He shrugged and made no attempt to lean back when the waitress brought their food, though he did wait until she left again before he spoke. “I have no other plans, do you?”

A blush spread over her face, but she didn’t break eye contact. “No.”

She didn’t know it yet, but he was the best thing that was going to happen to her. And she was the best thing to ever happen to him.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this wasn't too bad and that you enjoyed it.


End file.
